We Were Good Once
by BrokenAngel5683
Summary: Nathan remembers back to a time when his relationship with Peyton was still good. He wonders what happened to them? And once he knows, is it too late to fix it?
1. The Break up

Author: Mollie

Title: We Were Good Once

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, and it's unfortunate, lol.

Rating: T

Summary: Starts with the scene where Peyton and Nathan broke up, and then continues to show their past, when they worked, and sometimes when they didn't, as Nathan tries to deal with the loss.

"Thank you for being such a grade A ass, Nathan," Peyton yelled at me,"It's making this really easy."

Or at least that's what I thought she said. I wasn't quite sure. I lost track of her actual words the second I took in how angry she was. She got pissed at me, we argued, but she'd never been this mad. And it scared me.

"What are you talking about?" I said, my attitude getting the better of me and killing the desperate tone before it even left my lips.

"Are you breaking up with me?" the tone again incredulous, as if it were an impossibility for her to want to leave me. I knew it wasn't an impossibility. I knew it was reality. I knew she had every right to leave. I shouldn't have expected her to stay. I didn't. But the incredulous tone was truly because she had to know how broken I'd be without her. If she thought I was heartless now, I'd be down right cruel without her. She was my humanity. And I loved her.

I knew that I'd regret those words. I knew distinctly that this would be a moment that I would want to freeze, rewind, have slowed down. That her anger is something I would've wanted to be prepared for. So I could not just react, but counterattack.

And when did it become like this? Me using words like "counterattack" towards her. Since when did I start to feel this strange need to attack her. When did we stop working? When did things stop clicking? When did our relationship stop being a relationship and start being a battle? A battle that we'd started fighting like we could take no prisoners? Like we were prisoners? A battle that we'd decided somewhere would kill one or both of us?

And as she looked at me as if I was unbelievable, I knew this war was over. I had killed her. And with a plastic bag of things thrown into my face, she had killed me. We were both victorious. It was the only outcome we would have allowed, yet still neither of us was smiling.

But I wasn't ready to admit defeat because I had to fight for her. Although I knew the second I had her again, our battles would begin again. I fought for her, so I could fight against her, with some desire to take her prisoner, to win the war, that I didn't even understand. And maybe that's why I couldn't let her go. Maybe I was too convinced that there was a way to end this war with a clear winner and loser. And I refused to lose, even if it meant she was destroyed. "Come on, Peyton," I demanded of her.

She shook her head at me, as if she couldn't think of a time I'd been stupider. I could. I could think of plenty of those times. The times when I lashed out at her because I was jealous. The times I made her feel inadequate by telling her she was played out, simply, so I could feel better. So I could be victorious, at least, until I realized that I didn't have her. And without her I couldn't truly win, or be anything. And then she told me to leave. Just like that. Leave.

One word, that ended our war. That rocked me to my core. That left us both broken and dying on the battlefield that was our love. And as much as I wanted to fix it, I didn't have the words. There was nothing I could say, to take away the pain I caused her, or the pain I was feeling. There was no way to tell her now that she was perfect without sounding contrived, or cheap, or like a liar. There was no way to explain it. Other than stupidity. Or misplaced anger. Or jealousy. So with that, I did for the first time in a long time, just what she asked. I left. I walked silently, brokenly out to my car, with my things. Her things. The things I had given her. And I cried, silently, over her for the first time, as I started the car. I pulled onto the road, not knowing at first where I'd go, but then knowing right where to go.

The beach house.

We spent a lot of time together there.


	2. Loneliness

I pulled up in front of the beach house and walked up to the front porch, fumbling with the keys in desperation, looking for an escape from the reality I was trapped in.

This wasn't the first time I'd fumbled with these keys at this door. I'd fumbled with them many times with Peyton as she was teasing me in ways I can't describe. There were a few times that I'd even given up the attempt of getting inside. And at those point she always took the keys from me and seemed to open the door with such incredible ease as if she were completely unaffected. She made being turned on and doing other things look so simple where as all I could think about was the things she was doing to me and the things I would do to her.

I finally flung the door open and walked in, slamming it behind me as if that would help. As if it would keep the memories at bay. As if that would simply shut them out. As if it was an actual door in my mind that the memories would have to beat down first. Before they could cause me pain.

I found the alcohol quickly, having known for years now where it was. I poured myself a glass, but carried the bottle with me as I sunk into the couch, alone. I'd never noticed how it felt to be alone. I'd been here plenty times alone after fights with my dad. But this time it was different, I was really, really alone. I had no one to leave and go see. No one to go back too. And it was a kind of feeling that twisted your stomach up and turned your insides inside-out. Alone. I'd felt alone far too often in my life.

Most everything I did in my life, I did alone. Me against the world. I guess that's what makes me an unstoppable force. What makes me Nathan Scott. What makes me a single identity and not part of a group. The fact that I must always plow ahead, into deeper and more difficult things, alone.

And this is why I have never failed no matter what the cost. Why even as a part of a group I stand alone. And it is probably why I am given way too much responsibility. I'd never been able to blame a failure on the group around me because I am supposed to lead them. And as my father says a group performs as well as their leader trains them to, so everyone's failure is my failure. And when you stand alone, failures are hard to recover from because there is no one to help you back up off the ground but yourself and that is far too hard, so it's easier to always win if you stand alone. To forfeit whoever or whatever you have to, so that you don't fall while everyone's looking. Being alone is a difficult thing that most people live their whole lives without ever truly understanding, but I do.

And that's why losing the only person who helped me not be alone stings.

I poured myself another glass, enjoying the burn as the alcohol eased itself down my throat.

I was laying back on the couch now, quite a few drinks later. And I stared at the bag she'd thrown at me, sitting on the end of the table. It was as if that small plastic bag was a monster. A monster and a savior. I wanted to know what was in it. What she'd thought had been important enough to save. And I marveled at the fact that everything that was important to her about us, fit into such a small space.

Had our relationship always been that empty and I had missed it? Or did it used to be full and now it was empty? And all the things in the bag are from the beginning? And then exactly when did it stop being full of good memories for her? I know when it stopped for me.

When Lucas became a bigger picture. Not for all the stereotypical reasons everyone thinks. Not because he was joining the team, or he was hitting on my girl that I knew I was treating like crap anyway. But because I knew Peyton deserved better. I knew that somewhere along the way we'd stopped working and she deserved him. And then I knew she was looking. I knew I could never be that.

I could never be strong enough to stand up straight on my own and let people help me, and be kind. I didn't know how. The two didn't go together for me. I couldn't be strong and confident without being alone, and I couldn't accept help because once you're alone, you get used to being that way. And then people are in your way.

I couldn't be as strong as Lucas, ever. And I knew it. I knew that at this point my reputation, my cockiness, they were all ways to hide from facing facts. To hide from acknowledging that I was lacking things. And more importantly to hide from admitting that these things were important to me. That I missed them. And that everyone had them. Even Peyton. And that's when I started pulling away because I hated her for having them...and even more for not realizing she had them.

I reached across the table and grabbed the bag, pulling it into my lap. I had to know what she held dear. What she'd probably still remember looking back. I had to make sure that she still remembered a time when she liked me.

Selfish I know. But myself is all I have, so I have to feel good about it. And with that I opened the bag and dumped it out onto the couch next to me.


	3. Overcoming Fear

A/N: Thanks for all of the great reviews. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's the first trip down memory lane. So, enjoy and review. :)

I saw something snaking it's way towards the crack in between the couch cushions. And I reached out and snapped it up. I knew on some level that it was just a couch cushion. But on some other level it was a canyon. A canyon that I couldn't lose her memories to. I didn't want anything in the bag to disappear. I didn't want any of these good memories to slowly die away, the sound becoming jumbled, and eventually fading to black. I wanted to keep all of them. I couldn't lose the memories, just as I'd lost her. I smiled slightly as I looked at the photo in my hand. It was from the first time we talked.

We had all left the eight grade, young and innocent, unabused, just being who we were. Life had not taken its toll on us yet. But we all returned to school for our first year in high school very different people. Everyone had changed. While Peyton had changed for the better, I had changed for the worse, though I didn't really realize it at the time.

Peyton had left the eighth grade quietly. No one other than Brooke had really noticed her one way or the other. She had always seemed way too responsible. Heavy almost, as if she carried a great weight, a great burden with her all the time. And there was a heart stopping sadness about everything she did that made it hard to be around her.

But she came back to the ninth grade like a gust of wind. She stood up for herself. She held her head high. She looked you in the eye. There was a confidence there now. One that I'm still not totally sure she actually felt or had simply resigned herself to. But she was indeed comfortable. Comfortable to be herself. And the sadness was gone. Like a dark, storm cloud had moved from over her head. The sadness hadn't truly left though. She just hid it well, with the silent strength she now possessed. Whereas before Peyton was just there, almost in the way, ruining the mood, now she had to be noticed.

And the friendship she had with Brooke, still baffled me even now because you couldn't find two more different people. But I'm thankful for that friendship because otherwise, when we were at tryouts I never would've seen her smile. And without that smile I would've never realized how truly beautiful she was. Peyton had never smiled before. But now she smiled and laughed. And her smile was perfect. It was stunning. And all I can say is that it was that far too often hidden smile that pulled me in like a moth to the fire.

I had first noticed her at those tryouts when she smiled and joked with Brooke. When I actually got to see the softer side of her. That's when I fell, silently from across the gym at tryouts.

I had changed too, as I mentioned. This was the summer my mom was gone. It was the summer I spent alone with my dad. It was full of basketball camp and workouts. I had left eighth grade a child, light-hearted and free. And I had come back a man. I was far too weighed down by expectations, by responsibility now to be called anything else. When I had left, I was nice; I was part of a group. And when I returned I realized how hard it was going to be to actually stand on my own, but I acclimated, unable to do anything else. Unable to let my father down. Because though I had the responsibility of a man, the fate of everything, it seemed, resting on my shoulders, I was still a boy. I still saw the world through a boy's eyes. I still had a boy's feelings. And a boy wants nothing more than to be accepted by his father.

I had come back rougher. I had come back harsher. I had come back to the ninth grade painful and cruel…and alone. Though I desperately didn't want to be any of these things.

I had watched her that day and for return tryouts. And it was then that I got up the courage to go talk to her.

"Hey, Peyton," I said when I reached her side.

She looked up at me confused. As to why I was talking to her. I'd never really been mean to her before, but we were never really friends.

"Say something," Brooke whispered not so quietly to her. My reputation by this point had preceded me, in every way possible. It had gotten a running start and I was sprinting to catch up. I wasn't even all the things my reputation entailed yet, but you could tell the "celebrity" enamored

Brooke.

"Hey," Peyton finally, said. And I appreciated how uninterested she seemed. The way that she acknowledged me and then cut her eyes to the side as if she had other more important things to do. It was a big first. But I liked it. I really liked it. And she was still just as beautiful when she was trying to blow me off.

"So did you make the squad?" I asked her awkwardly. Now that I was here, I had no clue what to say. And that's when Brooke snapped the picture. It was her picture crazy phase. There was never any escape or any peace.

She looked up at me, and really looked at me, into my eyes. And I didn't see any of the normal adoration there. "Yeah," she stated simply, shrugging as if it were no big deal, her head tilting slightly to the side, one side of her mouth turning up into a half smile and half smirk. Then she started to walk away towards the locker rooms.

She didn't even leave me a chance to respond. I watched her in shock and awe as she walked away. "I made the team," I called after her, not knowing what else to do, or say and feeling like a complete idiot afterwards when she slipped into the locker room.

The next day we had practice, the new squad and the new team, breaking in all the new players. All I could think the whole time was how disappointed my dad would be if he knew I couldn't focus on the game and was instead paying attention to a certain blonde cheerleader the whole time. But I didn't care. She had captivated my attention and though she didn't seem to like it. I couldn't seem to imagine it any other way. When practice was finally over, I waited for her.  
"Hey," I said when she walked out of the locker room.

"Hey," she said, rolling her eyes at me slightly. "You don't give up do you?"

"No," I agreed with the statement shaking my head. I'd been taught never to give up, especially when something was important to you. I took a deep breath and despite how unreceptive she was being, plowed ahead. "You wanna go out on Friday?"

She stared at me as if I was crazy. "I'm flattered, really," she said sarcastically, as if asking me if she was really supposed to melt simply because I was Nathan Scott.

I sighed. She was making this difficult. Nobody really made anything difficult for me anymore. And this just made me more attracted to her. I wasn't good with feelings. I never have been, even younger. I'm still not. "Look, I don't expect anything. It's just…" I shrugged, "I thought we could go out…you know dinner, there's a carnival at the beach Friday…"

She looked up at me, her gaze softening, as if she was seeing me for the first time and not the man everyone said I was. She finally nodded. "Fine," she said softly, "But I can leave whenever I want…"

It was like she was trying to safe guard herself from something, but I didn't know what. "Of course," I said simply, "No one's holding you prisoner." Then I produced a bunch of dandelions from my back pocket. And there was another flash, Brooke. "These are for you," I said simply. And then she smiled that smile again. And she shifted embarrassedly, "Thanks."

"So I'll pick you up Friday," I said, as I started walking away, again not knowing what else to do. She nodded.

Back then things were simpler. I reveled in the glow of her smile. I didn't expect people to meet any expectations. I was trying to live down my reputation. Back then I had believed that I cared about her. That I wouldn't hurt her. That I would never hold her prisoner. Back then I never wanted to fight. Back then I gave bouquets of dandelions for no other reason than that she deserved something, and the flowers if not picked would get chopped to pieces by a lawn mower.

Back then I cared about things like that.


End file.
